Detachment

As I go forth from fair to martWith racket ringing,Who would divine that in my heartMad larks are singing.As I sweet sympathy express,Lest I should pain them,The money-mongers cannot guessHow I disdain them.

As I sit at some silly teaAnd flirt and flatterHow I abhor societyAnd female chatter.As I with wonderment surveyTheir peacock dresses,My mind is wafted far awayTo wildernesses.

As I sit in some raucous pub,Taboo to women,And treat myself to greasy grubI feel quite human.Yet there I dream, despite the din,Of God's green spaces,And sweetly dwell the peace withinOf sylvan graces.